Page 37 of The Runaway Billionaire's Inconvenient Baby
She swallows hard, her eyes shining. “It’s easy for you, Mr. Money Bags,” she says, her voice catching in her throat. “But not everyone’s made of untold billions.”
“But the cafe must do okay for itself,” I say, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I mean, it’s busy enough, isn’t it? The place was packed when I went in.”
“Sure, it keeps itself afloat. But that’s about all it does. We break even. Usually even make a modest profit, but nothing like enough to upgrade everything. Barely enough to upgrade anything.”
“You could sell the place,” I say, then wince at the pained look on her face. That was the wrong thing to say.
“I truly love it there. It’s the heart of the community. I love local life. I love feeling involved. I love serving people, and people love to come to the cafe as a hub, as a place they know they’ll be safe. That’s important to me.”
“Noble,” I say, but I think that was the wrong thing to say too, because she doesn’t relax.
The dress she’s wearing reveals her bare shoulders and all the tension she’s carrying in them. “When was the last time you genuinely interacted with human beings?” she asks. “I don’t mean businessmen, or at work. I mean, have you ever cared about a community? A place?”
I chew my toast slowly, not wanting to answer.
My silence says enough.
“Exactly. I could make more money if I did something else. I know that. But it’s not about money for me. I don’t want to be miserable. I want to help people, to see them succeed. That’s what makes me happy. And as I say, the cafe does well enough. I can pay all the staff well, and it’s a place for the locals to go. I wouldn’t give that up for anything. Sure, there’s a few cosmetic issues. And if something truly important breaks, I’ll deal with it when we get there. But success isn’t only about profit. I suppose you wouldn’t understand that, though.”
I swallow hard. “No,” I agree quietly. “I guess I wouldn’t.”
The breeze carries the cry of a seagull overhead and an awkward silence between us.
Maybe she’s realizing that getting involved with me is a bad idea. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I won’t ever understand her, but she’s making me want to.
“I don’t want to buy the island,” I say softly. “Not really. Not anymore.”
“You don’t?” She looks up at me, her eyes glistening.
“I want to live here, but you’re right. I can’t take all this away from you, from any of you. It’s more than just land, isn’t it? It’s home.”
That makes her smile, her rosy lips drawing my gaze. “And before you even think of saying anything,” she says. “I don’t need your help. I’m not a charity case. I’ve been running this cafe all on my own for years. I don’t need some billionaire with a savior complex to throw money at me because he feels bad, okay? I don’t need you to do anything for me because you pity me.”
“I don’t pity you,” I say firmly. “And if you think that’s why I slept with you…” The furious blush on her face deepens, confirming that that was what she was really thinking about. “It’s not. You intrigue me, Billie. You’re a beautiful woman. One who isn’t afraid to say what she thinks. You’re the most interesting girl who’s ever had any interest in me.”
“What makes you think I have an interest in you?” she scoffs, raising an eyebrow.
“One or two things,” I say with a smile. “This hickey, for example.” I pull down my collar enough to show her the red mark, and she bites her lip trying not to laugh.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if you did it again.”
“Oh?” she says, raising both eyebrows. “Are you flirting with me?”
I twist my face in an act of confusion. “You know, I think I might be.”
She stands up, pushes her chair back and walks slowly over to me before straddling my legs and sitting down in my lap. “Well, if biting’s what you’re into, I think more of that could be arranged.”
CHAPTER 19
BILLIE
Jacob ends up being the one who’s a charity case. I keep expecting this bubble to burst any second, but it doesn’t.
He stays at my house, in my bed, and says please and thank you. Acts like I’m doing him a favor by letting him stay. When I do things for him, he’s polite. He doesn’t complain when we go out anymore.
The first day he stayed, I couldn’t stop worrying about how he was going to react to things, how he was feeling about everything, and if he was going to decide me and the town were stupid after all. But he didn’t.
